Unsung
by PeaceHeather
Summary: A person's greatest strength is often revealed when no one is around to see it. Post-Showtime, Xander and Buffy have a conversation. If you like, this piece can fit with Remember, Believe, and Rest, but it isn't necessary to read the two together.


The house was quiet, finally. The Potentials with all their twittering and fussing had finally gone to sleep, or at least shut up for the night, so Buffy didn't have to listen to them anymore. They were a burden on her in a way that her duty never had been before, and being around them wore Buffy out.

Handling the Potentials was like dealing with… with cracked Christmas ornaments, fragile and brittle and just waiting to cut your hands apart if you made the wrong move. But then, the same could be said about all of them now, couldn't it? They were all fragile and brittle – either them, or Buffy's relationships with them. Sometimes both. Willow and her uncertainty about magic, about her self-confidence, about her place in the world. Dawn and her supposed hatred of Spike warring with her longing to be his Niblet again. Robin and his expectations of the way a Slayer was supposed to act, all based on the worshipful way a child once looked at his mother. And Giles, so cold now Buffy thought he'd burn her fingers if she got too close.

All looking to her to make it better. To meet their expectations. To care the way they wanted her to care, and to ignore what they didn't want her to care about.

Spike, for example.

She was tired, and aching, and the cut on her face itched where Slayer healing was doing its thing. Buffy had taken on the Turok-Han tonight, only instead of just (hah) the fight of a lifetime, she'd gone and turned it into a performance. Classroom demo. Slayer lab, everybody pick a partner.

It had worked, too. The girls finally seemed to get that the first thing a Slayer needed in order to win a fight, was the belief that the fight was winnable to begin with. But the fight itself, and having to take on Neander-Vamp with a pile of girls watching, had nearly exhausted her, and that was before she'd gone down into the caves to find Spike and bring him home.

God, Spike.

Speaking of sharp edges, her worry for him, fears for his safety, the longing to make it all better for _him_, the care and growing affection that she couldn't afford to let herself feel… she could cut herself apart on him, she had no doubt. (_Only fair_, a part of her whispered, _God knows you've cut him often enough yourself…_) Like Angel, he'd found a place in her heart where she'd never be able to root him out, but from which he could slash her to ribbons if he chose.

Fragile and brittle. She was too, it seemed. And she knew, from bitter experience, that she was no better equipped to handle her own heart than she was to deal with anyone else's neediness.

Buffy sighed, and dragged weary fingers across her forehead. She'd come out onto the porch to enjoy a moment of peace, not… this. She had enough angst in her life without rooting through her personal feelings and digging up more. Buffy took a deep breath and let it out in another long sigh. Rolled her neck a little, and tried to get her shoulders to drop.

Behind her the door opened; Buffy had just enough time for her neck to tighten – couldn't she get even five minutes to herself, just once? – before she smelled the sweet floral aroma of hot chamomile tea. It was one of her favorites, and one of the best things to put her to sleep when she was stressed.

She wasn't expecting that, and was expecting even less for it to be Xander who sat down next to her, with a steaming mug in each hands. He didn't say anything, just handed her one with a little half-smile, and she took it, careful not to burn her fingers. The steam rose and she ducked her face toward it, letting the fragrance wash over her.

Instead of taking a sip, Buffy waited. Sooner or later Xander would start talking, and she'd need to pay attention, and be ready to respond. That was how it always worked. Slayer and Scoobies, when it used to be Buffy and Friends… One way or the other, they kept each other apart. If they weren't trotting out some variation of "you'll be fine, you're so strong, you're doing great" when all she really wanted was to let her superhero façade slip and be vulnerable, then it would be "what are you doing, how could you, what were you thinking" when she most needed their support and encouragement. Or at least their trust.

It was wearying; another burden to carry. On top of protecting the Potentials, fighting to save the world, and trying not to love Spike, Buffy had _their_ expectations to satisfy, and she was so bone-achingly tired of having to justify her every thought and action.

But then, they'd all grown apart this past year. For all those days when she thought they never really saw her, Buffy was pretty sure that she didn't really know them very well anymore, either.

Only… Xander still hadn't said anything. And he saw her clearly enough to brew up a batch of her favorite tea.

It was… nice.

Buffy took a sip, let the aroma fill her sinuses and the honey coat her tongue and the heat spread through her like a soft glow.

Xander remembered that she liked honey in her tea instead of sugar; remembered how she liked it sweeter than any of the rest of them could stand.

"Thanks," she said quietly, touched.

"Sure," he replied.

The silence grew between them for longer than Buffy would have expected: she was halfway through her tea before Xander spoke.

"I learned something tonight," he said. "Or actually, I learned something last year and it only really sank in tonight."

Buffy shifted away a bit to see him better, twisting her head just enough to look at him sideways. "Oh yeah?" she asked.

Xander nodded, took a deep breath. "I saved the world," he said, letting the air out in a whoosh. Turned to face her. "Me. The guy with no superpowers or magic or mystical monks creating me out of cosmic energy. The loser who dumped his fiancé at the altar – that guy saved the world."

"Yeah, you did," said Buffy. "You got through to Willow where I couldn't. I'm – I'm sorry," she sighed. Out of a year full of personal failures, that one ranked right up there at the top of them all. "I wish I could have, but…"

"But that's not the thing I learned," said Xander. "See, I finally figured out what being a Slayer is really all about, for you. I thought I got it before, but I really didn't." He dropped his head to look into the bottom of his mug. "Really, _really_ didn't," he repeated quietly.

Buffy blinked, shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She wasn't sure what she had expected Xander to say to her when he first joined her, but she was pretty sure that, if pushed to take a guess, this wouldn't have been it. Buffy sat there, unsure whether to brace herself against yet more judgment; unsure what Xander needed from her. The sense of handling something fragile, brittle, and sharp came to her again.

For the life of her, she wasn't sure how to answer him, or even whether she wanted to.

Luckily – surprisingly? – Xander didn't seem to be looking for a response. Instead, he screwed his face up and spoke slowly, haltingly, as if struggling to find just the right words to explain.

"See," he began, "it was just me. Well, and Willow. But everything else we could think of – y'know, to deal with her – we'd already tried… so in the end, it came down to just me. No crazy powers, no god-killing weapons, nothing. Just me and whatever I could say to get through to her, you know?" He twisted to look at her, and when she nodded, he said, "It was both the hardest and the easiest thing I've ever done."

Something in Buffy's heart swelled. Confused, she took a shaky breath and sipped her tea, waiting for the burning in her eyes to subside. Where was this coming from? Not just Xander's words, but her reaction – what was this pain she felt? Envy, that it had been Xander's victory and not hers? Fear that she was becoming superfluous somehow? She didn't think so – both of those sounded way too arrogant, and didn't feel right, anyway – but Buffy couldn't quite come up with any other name for what she was feeling.

"It was the easiest thing I've ever done," Xander continued, "because, hey – Willow. She's my best friend, I've known her forever, and she's hurting. Of course I'm going to do what I can, no question. No… no hesitation, no doubt in my mind, you know? This is in front of me, and it's mine to do something about – simple as that." He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Easy as breathing… and then, it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do because, wow. World ending. If I screw this up, it's all over. Not just for Willow, not just for me, but… for everyone everywhere ever. No pressure, right? I mean, this should be a breeze, I'm only the idiot who barely graduated high school…"

"You're more than that," Buffy began, but Xander just shook his head with a little smile.

"That's neither here nor there," he said. "Point is, it was really weird – feeling both those things at the same time. I was totally petrified _and_ completely calm. I knew exactly what to do, _and_ I was winging it by the seat of my pants. Doing something that was second nature and completely new, both. And tonight…" He leaned in a little, bumped Buffy's shoulder with his. "Tonight it finally sank in that it must be like that for you, all the time."

Oh.

Buffy swallowed around the lump in her throat. _Oh…_ She ducked her head and hid her nose in her mug, blinking fiercely and hoping that Xander hadn't caught the tear that spilled out and dripped onto her knee.

"You're made for this," he said. "Going after the bad guys, conquering evil. You've got this crazy higher calling and all that good stuff. And at the same time, at the _exact_ same time, you're just you. It's both. Isn't it? And you've juggled that, every day, for years. Only it's harder for you, because half the time, you have no audience to see what you do, so no one really gets it – no one gets how amazing it is that you can do all the things you do. And then, the other half of the time, you've got a peanut gallery looking over your shoulder and yelling commentary about how you're supposed to do your job, like you're not doing it right. Holding up scorecards or something. Like the Russian judges at the Olympics."

Buffy couldn't help the little snicker he surprised out her then, sniffly and wet though it was.

"So of course, no one really gets it then, either," said Xander. "We've never really gotten it, I don't think. The Scoobies. We kind of took our cue from _the great and powerful Watchers_," his voice dropped dramatically. "I mean, we watched… but I don't know that we ever really _saw_."

Her bottom lip and her stomach muscles were both quivering uncontrollably; Buffy's breath hitched and she couldn't smooth it out no matter how hard she tried. Tears were trailing down her cheeks now, one right after the other, and she tightened her hands on her mug. _That's _what this feeling was, she realized. Relief. Profound relief, the kind you get when something finally goes away, after hurting for so long that you've gotten used to it. The way your feet don't ache while you're wearing heels but they hurt like crazy once you finally get home, and slip into some soft fuzzy slippers.

This was the pain that came from finally feeling understood, after years and years of holding herself on guard and defensive against her own friends.

Xander noticed, of course, but instead of saying anything he just scooted closer, till they were touching at shoulder and elbow and hip, and she could feel his warmth soaking into the sleeve of her sweater. "I dunno why it took till tonight for me to realize it," he said. "Maybe it was because tonight having an audience was actually part of the plan for once. But for some reason… for some reason, it finally sank in that being the Slayer isn't something you can just turn on and off whenever you want. I mean I don't know that I ever thought that way out loud or whatever, but I know we treated you like it was. And… in our heads, I think maybe _we _turned it on and off. We wanted you to be the Slayer some of the time but not always, and be Buffy some of the time…"

"But not always," whispered Buffy. She hadn't wanted to whisper, but her voice was a little squeaky and hard to control just now.

"Kinda, yeah," he replied. "Or at least – be the person we were expecting, rather than just letting you be you."

Buffy's breath hitched, and she struggled to hold back her sobs. She was fighting for control even though her soul was singing, _Oh yes_.

Because Xander was right: he did finally get it, and she wasn't sure anyone but Spike ever had before this moment.

"Being the Slayer is something that you always carry with you," Xander was saying. "It's not just something you use for fighting, it's part of how you think, and how you see the world. You… you look at things in ways that the rest of us can't," he said thoughtfully. "You look at _people_ in ways that we can't. And maybe we won't ever really get a handle on that, but… for me at least, it sank in that I can't judge – don't have the right to judge, the way you approach things, when I can't see them the way that you do."

That was it; Buffy couldn't hold it back any longer. She set her mug down on the porch steps beside her, hid her face in her hands, and cried. Xander wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, and her shoulders shook as he said, "I'm sorry, Buff. I'm so sorry. Anything you need. I'm so sorry," over and over.

Eventually the storm passed, as all storms do, and Buffy sat a little straighter, wiping her eyes and making gross wet sniffling noises. Xander kept his arm around her until she took a deep breath and blew it all out again. She felt… clean, on the inside, and rested in a way that she hadn't in months. She sniffed again, picked up her mug. The tea was cold but still sweet and soothed her throat.

"When did you get so wise?" she asked with a little smile.

Xander snorted. "Heh. Pretty sure that hasn't happened," he said. "I just… I dunno. I just kinda figured that I saved the whole world with nobody else around. No one watching, or telling me what to do. And you're whole miles ahead of me with the save-age. And you do a lot of your best work when we're not around. So it just hit me, you know? You're the One Girl in All the World, not the One Girl and Her Advisory Board. Who were we to tell you how to do your job? And then on top of that, who were we to dictate how you manage the rest of your life? I mean it's not like you're incompetent or stupid or anything."

"Tell that to the pile of bills," she said. "And I haven't actually had the best success with my love life either."

"Right," said Xander, "and I'm sure if my girlfriends were all chosen by committee I'd probably still be a virgin, since Faith was my first. Given how much Willow didn't like her, I'd have never gotten together with Anya. Then if we did, you'd all have had something to say on whatever crazy hijinks we got up to in the bedroom, and there would have been a Glory-class intervention when we got engaged, assuming there wasn't one when we started dating in the first place." He snorted. "Although, come to think of it, I'm a little surprised there wasn't an intervention after I ditched her at the altar. That would've been okay, actually."

"I can't really blame you guys for that, though," said Buffy quietly. "For the running commentary on my choice of boyfriends. Granted, I don't like it but… I mean, at least Anya never tried to end the world or murder your friends."

Xander sighed heavily. "I know," he said, "and that's where we all started thinking we had the right to tell you how to live your private life. It's like…" Xander took another deep breath. Buffy watched him making faces in the dim light from the porch, as he struggled to order his thoughts.

"In the beginning… we were just friends. Before we were sidekicks," he said. "And then after that, after we knew what you were, we still gossiped about your personal life, and you let us help you strategize about the Slayer stuff. So we did get into this habit of thinking that never the twain shall meet, or whatever. It was easy to act like your Slayer life and your personal life were somehow supposed to stay separate, and Angel was some sort of overlap that shouldn't have happened. Like, like you were bringing work home with you or something. You know? But it's like I said – you're both, all the time, always. You didn't step into a phone booth and whip off your glasses and put on a cape," he said, then grinned. "Although the part where you rip your shirt open probably –"

"That sentence will not be finished," said Buffy. They both snickered for a second.

"Setting that aside though…" he went on. "I mean, c'mon, Buff, you were sixteen. How exactly were you supposed to know anything about Deadboy and his curse? It's not like he was ever big with sharing details. About anything. Ever."

"I guess," said Buffy.

"And where the hell did we get off pinning all that on your shoulders, anyway, when the curse got lifted and he went on his little spree? Pretty sure it takes two to get somebody that happy."

"Apparently," said Buffy.

Xander nodded. "Definitely," he said. "But we were all young and stupid, and even though Angel was your boyfriend, Angelus kinda happened to all of us. And I guess maybe in a way we blamed you a little – like I said, for bringing your work home with you." He sighed. "Anyway. After that, I think we all worried that any guys you even looked at would also 'happen' to all of us if anything went wrong. So therefore we got a say in who you should look at, in the first place." He looked into his mug. "And I repeat – we were young and stupid."

Buffy raised an eyebrow, knowing how much Xander disliked her first love. "So if Angelus had never come onto the scene…?" she asked.

"Eh," he shrugged. "He would've still been a mistake. Condescending, patronizing dickhead. Getting in the way of my crush on you." He smiled sideways at her, and she could see the joke in his eyes. "But he would've been your mistake to make, and none of us would have made you feel like it was all your fault that he was a dickhead afterward – or treated you like you didn't deserve support for still feeling something for him even after he turned evil. I mean, God, they build whole movie plots around the girl falling for a guy who treats her like crap after she sleeps with him, right? Granted, Angelus was a little extreme, but still…" When Buffy gave him a look of wry amusement, he said, "Instead we acted like you were too stupid to choose your own guy after that, and pretended we had the right to choose for you."

"I always wondered if you maybe liked Riley more than I did," she said. She giggled, bumped her shoulder against his when he said "hey!"

"Still," he said. "We started by acting like your personal life and your Slayer life were separate. Then we acted like we had a right to have a say in your Slayer life, because you did involve us. _Then_ after Angelus blurred the lines, we acted like we had a right to have a say in your personal life…" He sighed. "And from there we circled back around to your Slayer life, and instead of thinking we had a right to some input, we thought we had the right to tell you how to do your job." He turned to face her fully, and put one hand on her shoulder. "And we were _wrong_, Buffy. On both counts. And you're the one who's had to pay for it."

Buffy shut her eyes until the tears stopped welling up. "You're my friends," she said, "you do get a say –"

"Sure," said Xander, "but only as much of one as _you_ think we should have, not as much as we think we deserve. And no right at all to make your decisions for you or second-guess you at every turn." His hand slipped off her shoulder and he looked away, ashamed. "We've been doing that for years, now," he said quietly. "And after tonight – after it finally sank in what it's like to be you – I finally realized just how much we've hurt you. And I'm more sorry than I can ever make up for."

Buffy swallowed hard, and took a shaky breath. She leaned over and rested her head on her friend's shoulder – the brother she never had. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Anything you need," he replied.

They sat in silence then, Xander drinking his tea and Buffy just taking deep breaths that felt more open than they had in years.

"I can't speak for the others," he said after awhile. "Dawn, Willow, Giles – I don't know whether they've figured anything out yet. I know Willow's had a lot on her plate lately, and Giles keeps giving you these looks. But as far as I'm concerned? That's over, Buff. No more crap from this corner. Not another word." He took a deep breath. "I admit I'm petrified over what might be coming for us this time around – but I can trust you to get us through it the way you have all the others. Whatever you decide to do, I'm behind you a hundred percent."

Buffy shifted against his shoulder, her hair tickling his chin. "I don't want blind followers, Xan," she said. "I need friends, not – not minions."

"I know," he said. "And I'll still look out for your motives – but once you've listened to ideas and then made up your own mind, I'll stand by whatever you decide. I'm done with making you feel like you don't have any backup unless Spike's around."

Buffy couldn't help the ripple of tension that slithered down her body. Her shoulders went tight and she pulled away from Xander. She couldn't bring herself to look up and see the expression on his face. "Look," she said tiredly, "I know you don't like Spike, and you have reasons for that, but –"

"Hey, it's not a problem," he said quickly. "I don't have to like Spike to work with him. And I will work with him if you need me to. I meant what I said, Buff – whatever you need, I'm there." He shrugged, took another slurp of his tea. "My point is, you shouldn't have to feel like he's the only person who's got your back. So, no, I don't have to like him, but since he is important to you… I guess I don't have to go out of my way to be a jerk toward him, either. At least, not on your behalf."

Buffy huffed a tired little laugh, reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "I guess that's the best I can ask for," she said.

To be honest, it was more than she'd ever expected.

"You shouldn't have had to ask," Xander said quietly. "Hopefully from now on you won't have to."

She looked up then, and saw him – her friend Xander, the class goofball back in school – smiling back at her with a maturity that she had never noticed before. He carried a wisdom behind his eyes now that hadn't been there last year, wisdom borne from pain and sorrow and bitter experience. For all the terrible things that had happened to them, she knew that _this_ Xander wouldn't be standing beside her now, looking at her the way he was, if he had never lost his love. If he hadn't stood alone between his oldest friend and the end of the world, with no one to see or sing his praises should he succeed.

He'd grown up, become a hero in the truest sense of the word, in those moments when no one was watching. Xander had become someone she could truly admire, and she wasn't sure that would have happened if those horrors hadn't shaped him into the man he was now – no, she thought. If he hadn't shaped himself.

That's what it was, Buffy realized – here was someone who had looked in the mirror, seen himself fragile and brittle and sharp-edged, and managed to put his pieces back together again, on his own. And because of that, he finally understood her – understood that a person's greatest strength often is revealed when and where no one else will ever witness it.

No matter what else was coming, Buffy knew now, she would be able to count on Xander as much as she had come to rely on Spike. She could handle him as he was now, and never fear cutting herself on him again.


End file.
